


The Carpathian

by realjane



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 05:31:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21368947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/realjane/pseuds/realjane
Summary: Charlie Weasley is injured while searching for a mythical breed of dragon: The Carpathian Wyvern. He lands himself in the care of Hermione Granger.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Charlie Weasley, Lavender Brown/Ron Weasley
Comments: 8
Kudos: 40





	The Carpathian

He had been on the road for a long time. Romania had a way of cradling a lone traveler in stretches of silent road, so he had spent many days not knowing whether or not he was making progress through the Carpathian Mountains. Even in his best days in Romania, Charlie had been stationary, focused in one particular region at a time, for the purpose of studying one singular species, and ultimately bringing it to the sanctuary. This was new--searching for signs of a beast scholars had deemed impossible. He was armed with whatever he could carry without an extension charm, with the hope that he would not need to use his wand unless absolutely necessary. Somehow, being mostly removed from the magic-reliant world had been renewing for him. So now, he searched the Romanian wilderness for his recompense. 

Reginald Nox’s ‘The Extinction of The Carpathian Wyvern’ had detailed what he was looking for, and acted as his field guide:

“...as I neared the creature’s cave, the pine trees curved upwards from the ground, as if they had been forced, as saplings, to make way for a great, round boulder, and then righted themselves again once they were tall enough to reach sunlight. The bark of the trees was marred like it had been charred by pointed heat--not a widespread fire, but a singular event, not unlike the fireballs we see from more common Romanian draconids…”

The Carpathian Wyvern was considered extinct by the Registry of Endangered Creatures. Charlie wasn’t satisfied with that. The fact that nobody had seen one since Nox’s book was published in the 1970’s didn’t mean it was extinct. Dragons were adaptive. They were smart, and the fact that humans were encroaching on their particular nest might have sparked some kind of reaction, like a migration, or a retreat to the denser forests. 

Charlie Weasley had a lot riding on this particular draconid; he had lost himself to grief after Fred’s death, and it had cost him his conservatorship with the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary. He hadn’t so much as discovered a common newt since then. Finding the Wyvern would earn him a bit of respect back, a bit of dignity. He couldn’t go home and face his family until he found his way again. It’s not that the Weasley clan wouldn’t welcome him with open arms, but somehow, they had all managed to move on. Charlie felt deeply guilty that he hadn’t been around very often, and he was kept up at night wondering if he couldn’t have done more to protect his brothers. Bill and George were married, Ron was a Keeper for the Chudley Cannons, Ginny was happy with Harry, and Percy was content to advise the Minister of Magic. They were living their lives. Moving forward. 

The Carpathian Wyvern might be his...his thing. His motivation--validation, even. 

The trees had started to curve upwards about a mile back. Charlie had cast a charm on his boots so that they didn’t crunch in the dirt, but every few steps he would stop, listen, and note any sounds he heard in his field journal. At first there was twittering birds, then a rush of wings as he walked too close to an unseen nest, and then only wind--moaning through the canopy of pine needles. No more birds… not even a buzzing insect.

It was impossible to see the sky this far into the forest, the way the needles laced themselves together at the tallest point of the trees. He needed to get to higher ground. At least the rocks were getting larger; there was no mistaking how Nox had gotten the impression that a large boulder had rolled down the side of the ridge, given the uniformly concave trees and the ever-increasing side of the rock-scape. But a rolling megalith? Most of the rock in the Piatra Craiului (at least on this particular face) was pitted from water run-off, to the point of carving caves in the upper cliffs--the idea that one piece would just break off and roll down the mountain, unencumbered by the trees… it seemed preposterous. Besides, how would the trees grow like that?

The canopy of needles broke just ahead, illuminating the curve of a natural tunnel through rock. Charlie flipped through Nox’s book. He had called this particular type of formation “the Cathedral of granite that opened upon the mountain’s final segment, the bald-pate of the ridge, where trees choke.” And the presumed location of a cave, or the remnants of one, where a wyvern had made its home. If this was, in fact, the right regions of the Carpathians. And if, by some miracle, Nox’s book wasn’t a hoax. More and more, he wondered if this was just the ravings of another Lockhart-ish charlatan.

Charlie passed under the vaulted rock, through the last of the trees, and the rest of the mountain opened up to him. He climbed unencumbered past clusters of head-sized rocks, up to a precipice that peaked this particular ridge and gave a view of the next leg of the ridge. No cave on this face. There was only scattered rock and a light dusting of snow that still lingered from the winter. Same thing down the cliff-face below--rocks and snow, and smooth mountain. No dragon. No sign of any draconids, not even an imprint in the snow. He kicked a few stones off the edge and watched them fall into the drifted snow in the shade of this particular steep face.

He pinched his nose. Dammit, Nox. Where in Merlin’s name was that blasted cave? Charlie stamped his foot in annoyance. He tossed his pack down. It would be best to take a breath here before recalculating the trajectory of Nox’s supposed discovery. Charlie put his hands on his hips and sighed. His stomach growled. 

Jerky had gotten him through several weeks on the road, purchased in a small town after his third failed ascent into the Carpathian mountain’s southern region, but it was beginning to taste like rubber. What he wouldn’t give for a bowl of his mother’s potato stew. Charle gnawed on his jerky and sat with his legs dangling over the edge.

He had no way of knowing that the rocks were weak, just there.

* * *

Hermione’s chair hit the floor as she stood up and raced past Healer Lovegood. Luna was hot on her heels.

“There’s been a Weasley in my infirmary for three days and I wasn’t informed?” Hermione fumed, rounding the corner and busting through a gaggle of orderlies.

“Madame Fenton expected you to react much like this,” Luna said gently.

Hermione had been Head Healer at St. Mungo’s for six months, but her appointment had caused some conflict amongst several of the senior healers. They took it out on her passively, by simply ‘forgetting’ to report on released patients, scheduling meetings without informing her secretary, and even discharging patients whom she herself had been treating. This was a particularly low blow from Madame Fenton. 

“She’s trying to make me look incompetent,” Hermione seethed. “Is it George, again?” Luna finally caught up to her and linked their arms. They descended the main staircase towards the intensive care unit on the first floor.

“No,” Luna said, “it’s Charlie. Took a spill off a rocky cliff in Romania, and it took him three days to crawl to the road. Two more days before he was found by a Muggle logging truck. We still don’t know how he got here, Madame Fenton merely told me that ‘He’s lucky he was found in time,’ but he’s been unconscious the entire time he has been in our care.” 

“Merlin’s ghost,” Hermione breathed. “Broken bones?”

“Legs the very least. I snuck the file out last night for a peek. Madame Fenton set both femurs and gave him Skele-Gro before her final round yesterday evening. Fenton isn’t certain whether or not his spine was damaged, so it might be more serious, though we haven’t divulged that to Molly, no matter how much she pestered us--”

“Hermione, thank heavens!” Hermione was immediately squashed against a green woolen coat by an extremely relieved Molly Weasley. Over Molly’s shoulder, she could make out Arthur and Ginny sitting on the bench outside of Charlie’s room. The fact that the entire Weasley clan wasn’t crowding the hallway was surprising, though she had a feeling they had all been to visit several times by now.

“Hello, Molly,” she said, muffled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was here, or I would’ve made certain he was under _ my _ care.”

“No matter,” Molly sighed, though her tone belied a certain amount of relief just to be embracing Hermione. “You’re here now.” She grasped Hermione’s shoulders and held her at arm’s length. It had been a while since she had seen any of the Weasley’s other than Ginny, at least since Ron and Lavender’s wedding over a year ago. Molly’s personal style was evolving deeper into colorful home-made knit-wear, which had a lot to do with the fact that Ginny and Lavender became pregnant around the same time, so the prospect of having her first grandchildren was looming.

“Mum, you’re going to smother her,” Ginny said gently. She held out her arms to her friend, and Molly released Hermione so they could embrace. “Hi, ‘Mione.”

“Hi,” Hermione smiled. She gestured her head subtly for Ginny to step further away from her family. Luna took Molly’s arm and turned her away for a chat. Hermione sat beside George, who gave her a cheeky grin, and Ginny sandwiched her. “I really didn’t know he was here,” she whispered. “I’ve got a saboteur to contend with.”

“Surely not,” Ginny breathed. “They picked you fair and square!”

“Not fair enough for Madame Fenton,” Hermione murmured. “If it weren’t for Luna, I wouldn’t have known he was even here.”

“It will ease mum, to know you’re looking after Charlie,” George said. “‘Sides: he’s the only Weasley child you don’t have a history with, so we know you don’t have any ulterior motives!”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “And what history might I have had with you, George Weasley?” Ginny cackled. 

“You were always demur about your feelings for me, Granger, but I know a flirt when I see her,” he said. The glint in his eyes let her off the hook, but she feigned indignance. 

“I wouldn’t dare,” Hermione said, but she linked her arm through his. Ginny lay her head on her friend’s shoulder. They sat that way for a while.

“I may have a lot of brothers,” Ginny said, finally, “but I can’t spare any more of them. Do look after him?”

“It’s what I do,” Hermione said. “I had better go in his room, hadn’t I?”

“Unless you’ve learned how to treat patients via telekinesis, it’s for the best.” George patted Hermione on the head. She mock-glared at him but gave him a reassuring squeeze on the arm.

Fenton had ordered the curtains in his room to remain closed at all times, so it was hard to see him when she first entered his private room. Hermione rectified that with a flick of the wand; gentle sunlight filtered into the room and illuminated her new patient. Hermione checked his pulse. Steady, but slower than she liked. He was thin; Charlie’s chart said that his stomach had contained trace amounts of dried bear meat. Madame Fenton had him on a fluids-only diet, but Hermione made a note to introduce some chicken broth into his regimen.

Hermione did a diagnostic spell to quickly discern what she could about his physical condition. As far as she could tell, his legs were healing just fine. His nerves were damaged in his lower back, but not irreparably. It would require physical therapy. She noted as much on his chart. It would require him waking him to know more about his mental state.

His personal effects were in a crate beside the bed, including a book about some sort of dragon and a personal notebook. She flipped through the dragon book. The margins were filled with coordinates and little notes, crossed out and re-written many times. Portions of the original text were circled or underlined. He must have been searching for this dragon. His personal notebook was even more manic in appearance with drawings, maps, mathematical equations, and the occasional notation, like ‘rocks too small to be Nox’s path’ and ‘wrong type of pine needles, trunks straight’. Field research? Something like that. Fairly expected, given Charlie’s line of work. She flipped through the rest fairly quickly, but then the drawings stopped, and there was only a few lines of scribbled text.

_ Can’t go home, now. Mum would be happy if I did, but don’t want her pity. Don’t think I’ve spoken to another person in weeks, don’t remember the last time I had a warm meal. Can’t go home. _

Hermione felt a pang for him. She couldn’t go home to her parents anymore, and Mrs. Weasley’s pity had been the very reason she didn’t tell anyone what she had done to them. It was better that way. But not wanting to go home to the people who love you most? What had happened to him before the accident, to make him feel that way?

The patient breathed out heavily. Hermione looked up, startled, into the face of Charlie Weasley, who was peering at her through sleepy slits. She closed his journal. His brow was deeply furrowed and he was struggling to take a full breath inward. Hermione stood and grasped his elbow, gently urging him to sit up so she readjust his pillows. He followed her lead as much as he could, but his breaths were ragged. ‘Broken ribs’, she noted mentally. She helped him settle back against the pillows once again. He grabbed her wrist as she moved away from him, face riddled with panic. She covered his hand.

“Don’t be alarmed, Charlie. You’re going to be alright.”

**Author's Note:**

> Truth be told, I love a good Nurse/Patient fic. I've been stewing on this one for a while. Hope you enjoy!


End file.
